Péché et Roses: Sin and Roses

Péché et Roses
Chapter 2

My guess is that iabouabout three in the morning when I wake up. I stretch and grimace upon feeling the pounding in my head. Having not bothered to dry off, my groin and stomach are covered in a mixture of our dry seed, and the air reeks of sex. Paris is fast asleep with a hand on my thigh. Having rarely been one to resist temptation, I lean over and kiss his forehead, stroking his hair.

Damn hanr. Ir. I swear a billion fucking drums are pounding in my head. I hiss this out loud through my teeth, and somehow I manage to free his hand and crawl over to put on my clothes, butter included, without waking him. I know I'll have to soon, but who simply invites misery? "Jean..." he mumbles something else, rolling over, still asleep. I kiss him fondly in response while gathering his clothes and our belongings together.

"Jean?" I lay beside him and almost instantly, he prs his his face into my chest, fisting his hands in my clothing. I yawn, hand caressing the bare skin of backback.

A few minutes pass and at last, the need for cleanliness gets the better of me. I stretch and pull away. "Paris, get up." He opens his eyes, leaning up, before groaning and lying back down. Closing his eyes, he moans, throwing a hand over his eyes.

"Hangover, darling?"

"You think?"

"Well..."

He growls, groping the ground for something to fling at me. Finding nothing, he settles for kicking me. "Fucking bastard."

I smirk. "It was your idea."

He bites his lower lip. "About last night..." He moves his hand from his eyes and stares up, struggling for something to say. It crosses my mind to feign ignorance, but it won't work – it's obvious from our cum and the wine bottles. "I don't mind if you want to wait until later...We...um...sort of need to get back." I avert my eyes. I'm staring, but damn, he's beautiful. "Paris, your clothes..." He nods and leans up, sliding the shirt over his head.

I sigh, pushing the winetlestles into a nearby bush. "You hate me, don't you?"

"No! Never!" He takes one of my hands and with a deep breath, kisses me before saying he loves me. I open my mouth to speak and blink several times in utter shock.

"I... Paris... I love you, too." He smiles warmly, running a hand through my hair.

"Good. Can we go and shower now?" He rests his head on my chest.

"Of course," I say, dumbfounded, though I’m stroking his hair with affection.

"My head hurts..."

"I know, love
He
He reaches for my hand and squeezes it when I rest my chin on his head. "You really are gay, aren’t you, Jean?"

"I'm afraid so, Paris. I thought it was obvious by this point, though."

"Have you told anyone?"

"No, and I don't plan to. I really don't see any obligation. You know how our parents are. Mother will pretend to be fine with it. Father will openly opp I d I don't want to deal with that. I'll tell them eventually, but not now."

Paris begins to speak, but pauses. "I...sort of understand. I still think we should tell them though. …Eventually. I love you, Jean. Intelytely, even. But…”

I kiss his hand in relief. "Love, the feeling's mutual. But, anyway, ask away."

"But Jean... isn't it wrong, though?" I've never seen him so open and desperate for an answer.

"I don't see hinghing wrong with it."

"Don't you believe in God?"

"Yes, of course, but I don't believe he cares about the sex of who you love. Loving someone is like loving God; that's what mother said. She never said that person couldn't be of the same sex."

"I suppose... So we're not going to Hell?"

"No! Not at all!"

"If you're sure..."

"I am."

"Jean... is it too forward if I ask if you enjoyed last night?" I eye his still naked thighs and rear hungrily until mentally slapping myself. God, he's beautiful. "Jean, last night?" I open my mouth and tr say say something.

"Paris, do you want me to be honest?" He nods, gathering his share of our belongings.

"Yes."

"It was incredible, even if we were both drunk off our asses."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"As you should, love." I stand and extend my hand, taking his and pulling him up along side me. My lips press against the back of his hand and wrap an arm around him. He seems utterly enthralled by my novel gestures. "Shall we?"

He nods and squeezes my hand for his own reassurance. "No one else has to know now, right? Not Marie or Mom?"

"They don't have to know." He nods in contentment, stretching to kiss my cheek. "As soon as we get inside we'll put everything up, take a shower, and then get back to bed."

"Your room?"

"Of course."

* * *

I wake to the sound of my alarm blaring that it's ten. I'm thoroughly surprised to feel Paris shift in bed beside me. He moans in protest, placing a pillow over his head. Under a multitude of sheets, I can make out one of my shirts, a portion of his neck, and an arm. Our clothes from last night are thrown dejectedly in a pile near the bed. It crosses my mind to get them up while leaving the bed and running a hand through my hair. I'll do it later. "Shit." Groggily, I stumble into the bathroom to go about my business.

For the longest time, I believed I was going insane every time my thoughts raced across my mind, controlling it in full, and couldn't be banished. I'm entirely still and staring at the plastic flowers on the toilet. Roses. The actual rose portion is made of some sort of fabric; the rest is plastic. Above the roses is a painting of ducks composed primarily of blue, brown, and white. In the corner of my eyes, I can see the curtains of the shower, elegant purple roses. The wallpaper has flowers on it as well. They're beautiful. Also purple. I've never understood mother's love of flowers or choice in paintings, but I love the use of colohe lhe look of elegance. But this morning, all of this only serves to further my misery.

Before I know it, I'm in front of the sink. The water is washing over my hands. The smell of liquid soup is in the air. I exhale deeply. None of that should have happened. I should have taken some responsibility. What if someone finds out? Dear God, Jean! He's twelve. He's your brother. And even if it never bothered you before, he's male. It doesn't matter if he's only two years younger, he's still twelve. This is so unlike me to get so worked up about anything, but it's all so bloody wrong. I turn on the water for a shower and sit on the floor waiting for it to warm up. I bury my face in my hands. It truly feels like I'm loosing my mind. Mon Dieu! What have I done?

A pair of arms comes around me and I can feel his lips on my neck. "Bonne matinée, mon amour."

"Bonjour."

"Something wrong, Jean?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired. Taking a shower to wake up... Paris, look. I'm sorry about last night."

"Jean, I love you. Let me make you feel better." He locks the door and I slump against the wall as he captures my lips. He gathers the bottom of my shirt, preparing to lift it over my head as he trails kisses down my neck and moves lower. I shift my legs, feeling my cock rise to hardness.

It hits me that something of last night is about to reoccur, and I push him away. "Paris! it. it. I can'tthisthis!"

He looks hurt. "You did it last night!"

"I was drunk, for God's sake! I... Paris! You're twelve. You're my brother. I just can't do this. I'm sorry, believe me, I am. I know what I said last night, but this is wrong. Terribly wrong."

"Why is it wrong? You said it wasn't!" He bites his lower lip and I know he's near crying. "I want to go to heaven just as much as you do, but how do you even know there's a God? Or a heaven and hell, for that matter?"

"It's in the Bible, Paris! We've made a mistake, and we're not going to make that mistake again, all right?"

"Whatever you say, Jean." He stands and storms out of the bathroom, refusing to look back at me.

"Paris!"

"Leave me alone, Jean!"

I fling the closest object to me, a towel, into the wall. "You're being immature about all of this!" He doesn't respond. I strip, locking the door. "Damn you, Paris!" Luckily, neither of my other siblings hear my last statement.

I sit cross-legged in the shower, letting the water pound on my back as I stare at the tiled wall within it. Again, the thoughts come crashing down upon me. It's allreduredundant. The sounds of his moaning. The feel of his body arching to press against me in pure ecstasy, screaming out my name. His thighs parting farther and his legs wrapping around my waist. My arousal has returned and without thinking, I reach for the hot water to shut off the nozzle screeching upon feeling the sudden burst of cold.

"Jean! JEAN! What's wrong?" ,my brother, older by four years, ask at the door.

"Um... Nothing! I turned the cold water on by accident. I'm fine, really."

"Well, I heard you arguing with “Well, I heard you arguing with Paris… Are you sure?”Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He sighs, pausing at the door, attempting to think of something to discover the real reason behind my scream.

I get a towel and wrap it around my waist. I can't take this. I need somng, ng, anything, to make this go away. I'm so numb and yet my mind is racing. I sink to my knees in front of the cabinet under the sink, rummaging through it for something sharp. Anything that can cause pain of some sort. Cleaning powders. Sprays. A hair drier. Buckets. Nothing.

After I'm sure my brother has left, I quietly unlock the door and pray that Paris has left my room. He has and I close my door, opening thewer wer to my desk and shift through it. By some dark angel's response to my wishes, I discover a pair of scissors and enter my closet, letting the towel slip and sit. Moments later, I begin slashing wildly at my upper arm. Oh, God, yes! Take the mental pain away!

I don't remember the details of it, just a raging throb. I had dressed and thrown the towel into the dirty clothes where Paris had placed our clothing from the night before. Somehow I managed to fall back asleep and woke an hour later, arm throbbing. And though I would have never admitted it then, I wanted Paris more than anything. Needed him even.

TBC